


that's what friends are for

by days4daisy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banter, Extra Treat, First Time, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “Well?”Peter has no idea what Drax is talking about - which isn’t all that uncommon. “‘Well’ what?”“Do you want to fornicate or not?” Drax asks.
Relationships: Drax the Destroyer/Peter Quill
Comments: 11
Kudos: 65
Collections: Little Black Dress Exchange 2020





	that's what friends are for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luneur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luneur/gifts).



> Happy LBD! I hope you enjoy this addition to your closet :)

“Do you know what you need, Quill?” Drax slides right up to his side; no “hey man, how’s it going?” Just strolls on up to offer an opinion Peter doesn’t want or need. Peter can imagine well enough without Drax filling in the blanks. He needs to find someone pathetic like him, or however Drax feels like phrasing it today.

Sighing, Peter waves a permissive hand. “No, Drax,” he says. “I don’t know. What do I need?” May as well humor the guy.

Drax’s jelly bean eyes hone in as he sets a heavy (and stinging - ow) hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You need fornication.”

Fine, not what Peter expected exactly, but close enough. “Ah, yep.” He nods, and tries to shrug out from under Drax’s hand. Easier said than done with a guy the size of a mountain. “Sex. Sure. Sex is great. One of my favorite pastimes.”

Drax squeezes Peter’s shoulder, and Peter reluctantly stays put. Better to suffer than risk snapping his collarbone in half trying to pull out of Drax’s vice grip.

“There is no better way to distract yourself from your many shortcomings than copulation,” Drax says. He has the nerve to sound encouraging, like a big brother passing out wisdom.

“Cool, yeah,” Peter mutters. “Good talk, buddy. I’ll get right on that copulation thing.” He sighs again, for show this time. Even a words-first guy like Drax is starting to understand the meaning behind a good, long sigh.

But today, Drax’s read on super obvious social cues must be off. He stays right next to Peter, hand threatening to snap Peter's shoulder in half. Drax's eyes have not moved either, eerie blue fixed on Peter’s face. “What?” Peter asks.

“Well?”

Peter has no idea what Drax is talking about - which isn’t all that uncommon. “‘Well’ what?”

“Do you want to fornicate or not?” Drax asks.

Peter has two very obvious sides to his brain. One side mouths “What the fuck” over and over at the question. This part of Peter's brain makes sense; because come on, what the fuck? The other side realizes, with an ocean-sized helping of self-pity, that it must be a long time since he last had a good lay. Because if Drax is being serious, the idea doesn’t sound half-bad.

“Dude, seriously?” Peter shoots him a skeptical side eye. Which also lets him take a long look down Drax’s body.

Peter’s looked before, sure. Peter has looked at everyone, even Rocket. Space is a lonely place, and sometimes a guy has to look to pass the time. Doesn’t mean he’s actually considering anything. Space is great for finding beauty, or promising sex possibilities, in unexpected places.

Sure, Peter’s looked before. But he never really thought about it outside of _crap, this guy’s huge_. Huge is Peter’s type when it comes to the male-leaning. David Hasselhoff and bigger, that’s what Peter likes.

This is the first time Peter looks in a _well shit, this has a shot of happening_ way. It’s not like Drax shies from attention with his big green chest thrust out for fun. He blames sensitive nipples for abstaining from shirt wear, but that seems like a lame excuse.

Damn it, now Peter is thinking about the dude’s nipples.

A smug little smile pushes Drax’s lips up. “You want to,” Drax says.

“What? I didn’t say that!” Peter protests.

Drax tells him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“Oh right, the guy who can’t understand words thinks he can understand faces.” Peter huffs. “Maybe I don’t want to, how about that? I didn’t say I wanted to. I was thinking about it, that’s all.”

“Ha!” Drax points an accusing finger at him. “You were thinking about it.”

Peter groans. “Dude, that’s what I just said! You know what? No, that’s what I was thinking about. Saying no. Because I have options.”

“You have options,” Drax echoes. He sounds skeptical, the dick.

“I so have options,” Peter fires back. He puffs his chest out. “Any rest stop. Any bar. Any place I want. I’ve got options for days, my friend. So many options, I don’t even know what to do with them all.”

This whole thing feels like it’s heading for a good-sized back and forth, and Peter’s here for it. Whether Peter is in need of ‘copulation’ is debatable, but he does have some steam to blow off. They’ve had a series of heists hit the L column recently. Not to mention the amused, but pretty threatening, messages from Yondu.

Drax is always good for a ridiculous argument about nothing. Peter anchors his feet and puts on a big smile, waiting on whatever barb will come his way next.

Drax frees Peter’s shoulder, then sends Peter off-balance with a clap across the back. Answering shocks twitch down Peter’s spine. “Alright,” Drax says. With one word, he walks away, heavy boots clanking against the ship's floor.

“Alright?” Peter calls after him, incredulous. But Drax is already out of sight, rounding a corner to the refresher. The part of Peter wanting banter quiets in disappointment.

Maybe he should have gone for the sex.

It’s a stupid thought, and Peter snorts the moment it crosses his brain. Then frowns, because 'Drax' and 'sex' in the same thought refuels his imagination. His brain becomes a playground of muscle and questions. Like, how would it feel to run a hand down those red swells on Drax’s body? They’ve got to go on under the pants, right? Maybe they wrap around his dick. Like a permanent cock ring, ha.

The guy has to be hung too, right? He must have a massive dick. Peter has plenty of experience with big dudes, but it’s been awhile, and he’s never had a guy Drax's size. And...Peter’s already put himself on the bottom. Great.

“Damn it,” Peter grumbles. He heads to his bunk. For now, he's happy to chalk up this weirdness as a sign of needing an R&R stop. Luckily, they’ve got an outpost coming up in under 48 standard hours. They could all use a bit of a breather, that’s for sure.

***

Only problem is, the R&R stop kind of sucks.

The main pub on this satellite station is called Rosko’s. Likely named for the scuzzy Ratitoid with back hair popping out from his greasy muscle shirt. It’s no wonder the rest of the crew chose to go their own way, but the rough crowd didn’t seem bad to Peter at first. He’s not sure how or why, but he’s even heard a few Earth classics sprinkled in with the jukebox smorgasbord. There’s laughing and clinking glasses and, every now and then, the thud of some loser chucked through a table. Rosko’s must be doing pretty good for itself if it can afford the constant furniture turnover.

Peter should be using this rare time solo to plot out their next job. They’re only stopping over for two nights, and by then he needs a plan with a solid payout. If he doesn’t have one, the rest of the crew will try to jump in with suggestions. Which wouldn’t be bad if their suggestions were any good. Last time, Peter had to pretend to consider raiding a spare body part warehouse. “So many people hobbling around,” Rocket cackled. Little weirdo.

Planning is what Peter should be doing, but he finds himself looking up every few seconds to scan the crowd. His thoughts stray to whether there are any prospects in this bar. The answer is no so far, but he keeps glancing at the door hopefully every time someone new walks in. Bars with a rough crowd are good for atmosphere but suck for plotting out an after party. No one’s looking very sanitary at the moment, let alone appealing.

The lack of prospects takes him back to two days ago. To the chance to ‘fornicate’ with Drax, or whatever he called it. It would have been a bad idea; one of the worst Peter has ever had. (And he’s had a bunch of shit ideas.)

But getting laid has been on his brain ever since. Peter feels on edge, unrest brewing in little twitches and tics under his skin.

Speak of the devil, Peter lifts his head at an over-exaggerated throat clearing. Drax is standing over him, flagging down the Ratitoid for another drink.

“Dude,” Peter says, “how long have you been here? I didn’t see you walk in.”

“A while,” Drax says. “But you couldn't see me because I was invisible.”

“You were _what_?”

“So,” Drax continues, ignoring what Peter thinks is a pretty legitimate question. “How are your options looking?”

He grins, and Peter’s mood takes an immediate nosedive. “Shut up, man,” he grumbles. “I don’t even care. I’m not looking, alright? I’m thinking. About important stuff.”

Drax communicates his order to the bartender with only a nod somehow. Then, he gives the room a slow, thorough scan, and Peter cringes in anticipation. The last thing he needs is Drax playing matchmaker.

Out of nowhere, Drax smirks and smacks a gigantic hand between Peter’s shoulders. Peter has to catch the bar with his hands to keep from face planting into his beer. “That whole friendly tap thing you do?” Peter glares up at Drax. “ _Not_ friendly.” It won’t surprise him to wake up with a swollen imprint of Drax’s hand on his back tomorrow.

“Keep looking,” Drax says, again ignoring Peter saying something important. “This place is full of pathetic low lives and losers. You should easily find someone of your ilk to fornicate with long into the night. Or, short into the night. Whatever your preference may be.”

“ _Long_ ,” Peter scowls on instinct. He belts out a nasty laugh and toasts his bottle at Drax. “And why should I? I’ve got the biggest loser there is standing right in front of my face.” Peter caps the taunt off with an exaggerated vowel. _Face-ah!_ hisses off his lips with relish.

Drax seemed to be having a grand time at Peter’s expense, so it’s a surprise when he doesn’t immediately fire back. He just looks around some more, thick green neck wrinkling. His forearms brace on the bar counter, muscles fluttering. Hell, even his pinkie fingers seem to bulge.

Peter hopes he didn’t actually hurt Drax's feelings with the ‘loser’ comment. He may be a smidge tipsy, but that doesn’t mean he wants Drax popping him in the face with one of his hamhock fists.

Drax looks at Peter abruptly. “So, you do want my penis,” he says.

“What?” Peter laughs again, incredulity shooting his voice higher. “Dude.”

“You do!” Drax accuses. He sloshes his new drink in Peter’s direction, like he thinks he's making a point. “You have that look on your face again.”

“What look?” Peter demands. “You couldn’t read someone’s look if your life depended on it.”

“You want to copulate,” Drax continues, as if Peter hasn’t said a word. The guy is literal as a dictionary, but that shouldn’t cause selective hearing, right? “You’ve been thinking about it. Distracting yourself from your shortcomings by pumping your brain full of my dick.”

“Jesus,” Peter groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. Hindsight makes him cringe. He's touched so much in this scummy bar.

Peter has to look up at Drax from his bar stool, and he realizes this is a problem. Drax is like a great white next to him when they’re both standing. He doesn’t need Drax looking down at him like he’s some stupid kid.

With a huff, Peter pushes himself to his feet. Glaring, Peter scoops up his beer and drains the rest of the bottle in one go. The clank of the empty glass hitting the counter earns startled looks from around the bar. Drax, to his credit, only blinks, a smile on his lips.

“First of all, don’t say ‘pumping your brain full of my dick’ ever again. Fuck, man." Peter shudders. "Second...I bet you wouldn’t even be good. I bet you suck at it. How do you like that?” He grins.

“What do you bet?” Drax asks.

“No,” Peter says, smile dissolving. “I’m not actually betting you, it’s an expression.”

“I should get to pick our next mission,” Drax says, not hearing him. Peter wonders why he even bothers speaking to the guy at all.

Peter has no idea what potential mission Drax could have in mind. But whatever it is has the smile on his face growing, and Drax with a grin on his face never means anything good. Drax’s ideas for heists tend to involve murder by spine-splitting. No thanks.

If Peter hadn’t had a few drinks already, he would squat back down on his bar stool and order another round. But he _has_ had a few drinks. Peter with a few under his belt has a tendency to think really stupid ideas are only somewhat stupid. Besides, if Peter calls Drax on his own game, the big guy won’t go through with it. No way.

Fueled by liquid courage, voice in his pants louder than the one in his head, Peter steps right up to Drax and smirks. “Fine,” he says, “you’re on.”

Drax laughs out loud, one of his room-filling cackles that earns a few more creeped out looks from the bar. His brand new drink is guzzled in a single gulp.

With a final look, eyes brighter than anything else in the bar, Drax saunters out. Following Drax is a terrible idea, Peter thinks, as he follows Drax out the door.

Problem is, the thought of sex has been in Peter's brain since Drax lodged it in there. ('Lodged.' As bad as ‘pumping your brain full of my dick.’) On the way back to the ship, Peter's eyes keep drifting to the cut of Drax’s waist. He can’t come up with a good reason at this point not to look.

***

Peter flops on his back, breathing heavy. He closes his eyes, pink in the face. His fingers twitch over his stomach, and his legs scream sore in the best way possible. An ache chews through his hips, taking him back to all that weight shoving him into the mattress. The bed wasn’t prepared. It feels a little off-balance, exactly like Peter.

Those red marks do indeed go all the way around Drax’s dick. They’re ridged and raised, and they rub inside in all the right places. Peter hasn’t felt anything like it before. (And he’s been fucked by some weird things.)

In the aftermath, Drax surprises Peter, or he would if Peter were coherent enough for surprise. He sits by Peter’s side and scrubs his hair into a fingery mess.

“I’ll inform you of my mission choice tomorrow,” Drax says.

“Uh-huh,” Peter mumbles. He’s floating too high to hear himself. But Drax must, because he smirks, petting Peter like a cat.

Of course, the guy picks now to hear anything Peter says.


End file.
